Heated Moments
by Ready-made Prodigy
Summary: Whickam’s first stay at Permberly after the Darcy’s marriage…obviously uninvited and as tricky as ever. Of actions and reactions that will lead to high tensions and quite a few heated moments in the Darcy household.
1. Events Set in Motion

_**Heated Moments…**_

**Summary: **Whickam's first stay at Permberly after the Darcy's marriage…obviously uninvited and as tricky as ever. Of actions and reactions that will lead to high tensions and quite a few heated moments in the Darcy household.

Apart of the _Pride and Prejudice Moments Series_:

_Unspoken Moments_

_Missing Moments_

_Drunken Moments_

_Heated Moments_

It's actually not a series since all of them could be read individually, but they all have a similar feel to them and there are a few references to the other stories. The only reason I called it a series was because I thought it would look clever with the linking titles.

**References: **Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austin and the P&P sequels by Linda Berdoll (a fairly credible piece of work).

Lydia rushed into the kitchen with hardly suppressed, and as of yet, unknown enthusiasm. Wickham's nerves flared, but with practiced precision he was able to squash down the utter disgust at what was legally made his wife and instead put on a face of earnest inquiry.

Not even waiting for her husband to voice his question Lydia went on to say, "Yes apparently Jane has finally had her child!"

Using yet another practiced skill, Wickham resisted the urge to roll his eyes. However, Wickham, though unsatisfied with his being tied down in marriage, did at least know his wife (if only from the fact that they lived together) and he knew with certainty that his wife didn't give two pence about such things as children when concerning her sisters. That is unless there was some form of gossip or visitation on her sisters' large estates to be had. All Wickham had to do was wait for his wife to throw down her pretense to suspense and allow her stupid girlishness to overcome the wish for surprise and just tell.

Sure enough Lydia soon twittered away, practically skipping about the room in excitement.

"As you recall my husband, Jane invited us to visit as soon as she had her first child."

Wickham, rather annoyed and impatient, simply said, "Yes, go on, go on."

Lydia smiled conspiratorially. "Well, it just so happens that Jane had given birth about a month early…"

Wickham wondered idly if Lydia was overjoyed at the prospect that Jane's child had not survived after all and that she was once again in the race to first produce an heir.

"…and in consequence Jane was caught unaware and instead gave birth in Pemberly where she had been visiting for the last time before her ultimate confinement! Just think my dear husband. A chance to visit Pemberly at last! Pemberly!"

Wickham was stunned at the odd twists of fates, but of course no less eager to take advantage of it. When Darcy had first arrived at the door of he and his wife's hiding place in London demanding that he be responsible for any and all wedding expenses, including Wickham's various debts, George Wickham had been baffled. He had owed the grudgingly given handouts to the fact that Darcy, being the noble fool he was, did not wish for another scandal to occur due to the close relation with his sister. But no, that had not been the reason. Within the month Elizabeth and Darcy were engaged. Wickham had been cheated. Had he known an inkling of Darcy's true intent he would have been able to profit much more profoundly than he already had, including perhaps a much more generous living than he had now. It took many nights of drinking to get over his bad humor. Elizabeth was the first one to spark his interest and she was indeed very beautiful, but what had he missed that Darcy was able to find that had possessed him to marry Elizabeth Bennet despite her considerably lower status? He ground his teeth at the thought, but Lydia's expectant face suddenly brought him out of his dark thoughts and he realized that he had made no further comment on the news.

"Uh, is it a boy or girl?" he asked, supposing it an appropriate question.

"Lord if I know. I hardly even read the first line. 'Tis not like it matters, for we shall be leaving at once!"

"Excellent," he responded absently, relieved that she left immediately to pack.

As the carriage bounced about noisily and Lydia's incessant chatter melted into the background of his mind, Wickham continued to ponder the missing charm or allurement of Elizabeth Bennet that had so snagged the ever aloof Darcy because in Wickham's virulent mind it was inconceivable that Darcy had married Elizabeth for love.


	2. Beginnings of the Tale

Elizabeth descended languidly down the wide Pemberly staircase, content with the way her hands slid over the smooth surface of the railing. The feeling that she was a princess going down to meet her adoring public still had not worn off in nearly a year of walking these very steps. She enjoyed the feeling and when no one was watching she would sometimes repeat the process over again and wave serenely out into the imaginary crowd with a flourish of her wrist and elbow. Of course she had not done that recently due to the terrible experience of having her husband walk in on her with some random unknown visitors trailing behind him. Elizabeth had been deeply mortified, though Darcy had thought it endlessly amusing and sometimes, when walking down with her to breakfast, would imitate her movements with a feigned haughtiness and overly swinging hips up until the point where his wife threatened to push him down the rest of the steps and then pretend it was a total accident if he happened to die.

She heard familiar voices at the door and she hurried quickly to the entryway. There, standing in the November winds, were Darcy's cousins, the Fitzwilliam brothers. She had grown to like the two immensely, Colonel Fitwilliam in particular since he seemed to be in endless supply of hilarious and humiliating stories of Darcy as a child and young man. Colonel Fitwilliam and Elizabeth had also made a dastardly duo in annoying the possessive and smothering, protective Darcy by pretending to flirt with each other whenever they were together, endlessly vexing her husband. On April Fools Day Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had pretended to fall madly in love with each other and purposefully allowed Darcy to walk in on them mid kiss in the drawing room. Darcy was in mid swing with the fireplace poker when the two suddenly burst out with their 'April fools!'. Unfortunately, it was a little too late to stop the full momentum of the greatly wound up swing. After getting over the fact that Darcy's cousin was laying on the ground unconscious Elizabeth spent a great many hours laughing at Darcy's expense, who, blushing furiously, had to explain to his elder cousin why his younger brother had not shown up to dinner…nor breakfast the next day.

"Geoffrey!" Elizabeth exclaimed, giving her cousin in law a big hug, giggling as he lifted her off the ground and swung her about.

She greeted James similarly, although less expressively, and inquired about his wife before Darcy strode forward to greet his relations. Elizabeth had hastened to bring her own family down to greet the new arrivals, thus had not seen the glare that Darcy had bestowed upon his cousin nor the ungentlemanly tongue that stuck out when Fitwilliam smirked.

The Bennets, Gardiners, Fitwilliams, Bingleys, and Darcys all settled down to a large, opulent, and (mainly concerning the Bennets) loud dinner. Barring the usual highly embarrassing, 'wish you could sink into the floor and disappear' moments, the dinner was comfortable. Mrs. Bennet was thankfully monopolized by Jane's gurgling little girl and Kitty and Mary were too immersed in figuring out correct silverware to properly be as obtrusive as they normally tended to be.

Darcy surveyed the table with a soft smile. Jane and Bingley sat making funny faces at their daughter, who had an instantly cheering audience whenever she did anything. Georgiana was laughing openly with Fitwilliam over something the Gardiners had said and best of all Elizabeth sat by his side, exasperatedly cleaning the bits of food that kept slipping off the dish closest to her while still holding up conversation. Darcy had come to get used to this _family_ atmosphere over the last months. At first it was torture. The noise, the lack of propriety, anything and everything they did grated on his nerves. He endured it for his wife however. Her hand on his knee and the prospect of her disappointment at his ill attempts at making peace with her family pained him far more than her family itself, so he sat and tried his best.

He didn't know when his attitude truly changed. His first accomplishment was with Elizabeth's father, whom he surprisingly found a like mind. Mr. Bennet, instead of the mortification Darcy experienced when observing the Bennet family, was highly amused by their behavior. He surveyed his family like the big father he was and used his dry humor to poke and prod them in the hopes of gauging a reaction and because of his explicit knowledge of them most of the time he was rewarded. In time, Darcy also began to see his wife's family the same way and later, accept them as being his own.

He never truly showed it. Darcy was not one to show any of his true feelings outright. That was what the silent, strict, suffocating, stiff, awkward, and painfully formal dinners that both Darcy and Georgiana went through growing up had done to them. Darcy had quite improved. His lips had worked their way out of their customary line and he no longer acknowledged comments with a monosyllable when he couldn't get away with a nod. His conversations were still not taken in length, but twenty eight years of habit were hard to break. His sister was progressed spectacularly. She was no longer the quiet mouse quivering in the corner, nervous to say anything that could be deemed as wrong. She spoke and was listened to. Her confidence and character strengthened. She smiled more often and that brought great joy to Darcy's heart.

This was what a real family was. They actually cared. They were noisy and annoying, but if ever there was to be an occasion for propriety the ranks would be closed and a face of perfect grace and manners would be displayed to the public. Except for the inevitable mishaps, the Darcy name was moreover preserved. Darcy could not be happier and was contented that his wife felt the same way.

A hand over his own brought him out of his thoughts.

"And what are you brooding over now my love?"

"I am contemplating the perfection of this scene before me. What say you on this matter?"

"Perhaps a little lacking. The noise could use improvement."

Darcy smiled knowingly. "I agree, this cacophony is most insufficient. Of course it is nothing six more filled seats will not fix."

Elizabeth looked at him incredulously. "Six you say. Why sir you have great dreams indeed!"

"Yet six would make me happy. Is it not a wife's duty to please her husband?"

Elizabeth snorted. "That would be sir, but I daresay you have it all wrong for it is a husband's utmost priority to dote on his wife and if you don't acknowledge this then you do not love me."

In a rare display of affection, Darcy planted a light kiss upon the neck of his wife's swan like neck.

"I love you Elizabeth. You know that."

Elizabeth closed her eyes as she felt the warm breath of her husband play across her skin.

"Yes I do know that. I just like to hear you say it because it reminds me each and every time how lucky I am to be your wife and how much joy it is to love someone like you."

"Thank you for mentioning your luck in marriage before your own love for me. It is very comforting," Darcy replied sarcastically, smiling into a second kiss.

Elizabeth gave her husband a playful slap. "Only for you my love."

Dinner was nearly over when a servant rushed into the dining room, speaking only in brief with the master and mistress of the house. Both their countenances changed drastically. Elizabeth became white, the knuckles clutching on the tablecloth becoming deathly pale. Darcy became red and his eyes bore a flame.

Darcy stood and with a calm, but commanding voice he said, "I apologize for the intrusion but we must have a meeting in the foyer immediately. We must discuss a most urgent matter."

This disconcerting order was followed immediately the table's many occupants stood up and left without a word, their faces solemn. Darcy's tone had rent the air of its merry atmosphere and was replaced as apprehension. Fitzwilliam was especially worried. Darcy had made similar announcements in the past, but they were never in the foyer. When twelve year old Darcy told his fourteen year old cousin of his mother's death it had been in the library and when his father had died two years previous he had summoned him to his study. If this was as grave as it seemed then at least it would have been held in one of the upstairs drawing rooms. The foyer just seemed so…ordinary.

They took their seats among the worn, but still fashionable furniture normally occupied by incoming guests. The men folk had grouped together, while the women sat opposite. Mrs. Bennet, not used to extended silences, had already begun to twitter in a very loud whisper. Elizabeth and Darcy were the only ones to remain standing. Darcy was situated near the window, glaring at the rain outside, while his wife stood in front of the recently lit fire. At first she remained silent, her chest heaving from some unknown exertion. Elizabeth's vexation stampeded across her brain as she contemplated what she was about to divulge. The only ones in the room who did not know about the scandal concerning Wickham and Georgiana were Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary. Bingley was told via Jane, though only with permission. Mr. Bennet was informed by Darcy himself. The Fitzwilliam brothers were of course involved in the matter and the Gardiners knew enough, though not entirely familiar with all the details.

Not even glancing at her husband for her next course of action, Elizabeth, trying to keep a slight quiver from her voice, began to explain.

"A messenger has just arrived to announce the upcoming arrival of…_guests._ Apparently Lydia and Wickham did not want to alert us to their arrival until it was too late for us to turn them back."

Fitzwilliam stood up in anger and indignation. "It is an outrage! Neverless, rain or shine Wickham nor who he has chosen as wife shall ever set a foot back in Pemberly! He has done enough harm to this family."

His rage was diverted momentarily as Georgiana dropped whatever she had been holding and he went forth to comfort her, although not allowing the glower in his eyes to dissipate.

Mr. Bennet was the next to stand, though he was far more composed. "Why now? They know very well that they are not welcomed here."

From her corner Jane gasped and for a second everyone was relieved that it was Charles holding the babe for they were sure that Jane would have dropped her.

"I promised Lydia she may come and visit me after the birth, but since I had her early she must have…"

"Taken advantage of you giving birth here and planned to use this as excuse to come to Pemberly," Mr. Gardiner finished bitterly.

"Oh woe is me to have conceived such a witless child. If only she could have put what little sense she had into books rather than divulging in loop holes," Mr. Bennet groaned.

Mrs. Bennet finally interjected. Elizabeth was greatly surprised that she had waited so long.

"Oh Mr. Bennet, how could you say such things about your daughter! She simply wants to celebrate the birth of her niece. She is a sweet girl. See how concerned she is? To come all this way in the rain…"

"Probably in the greater hopes that they would not be turned away," Elizabeth replied.

_Much like mother's plan to keep Jane at Netherfield, _Elizabeth thought sourly.

"I don't see the problem here. You never allow her here. Poor Lydia always feels left out. Whatever has happened in the past should be left there and we should move on," Kitty whined.

"Kitty, for once think about what you say before you speak!" Mrs. Gardiner scolded.

Mrs. Bennet continued to complain and argue baselessly as the rest of the room awaited Darcy's decision. Ultimately as master of the house it was his choice alone. Elizabeth, ignoring her mother's growing hysterics, made her way to her husband's side and putting a comforting hand on his upper arm. His muscles were tight and his jaw was set. Elizabeth did nothing to inquire or rush his thoughts.

At long last he took her hands in his, albeit squeezing harder than normal.

"Do you love me Elizabeth?"

"I believe we have already had this conversation," Elizabeth smiled reassuringly, "I will support whatever decision you should make."

Darcy sighed. "I understand that however unwanted he is, Wickham is still forcibly my brother and that Lydia is your sister, so I-- despite my feelings-- will allow them to stay."

Elizabeth looked deep within her husbands eyes. "Are you sure Fitzwilliam? I do not want you to do this for me alone. I would rather not have them set foot within this place of which I have claimed as my own and cause pain to the family I love more dearly."

Darcy nodded and, still holding his wife's hands, turned back to those gathered.

"Lydia and Wickham will be allowed to remain, but only until the storm clears and only if their behavior remains benevolent," Darcy turned to his sister and then to James, "However I shall not have my sister and that cad under the same roof. James, please take her to Whitemore immediately and watch over her there," when Fitzwilliam began to protest, Darcy cut across him, "Geoffrey I need you here to help me monitor him. For the rest of you I bid you good night. I shall retire for I refuse to meet with that villain."

Giving his wife a last kiss, he exited the room but not before saying to Fitwilliam in a low growl, "Make sure he does not even look at Elizabeth longer than a few seconds."

Fitwilliam nodded gravely. It was all the assurance Darcy needed to signal his speedy departure to his rooms. Darcy was not one to normally abandon his duties to those around him, but he feared he would slay Wickham more than anything Wickham could do while in his home. He also gave explicit trust to his wife's steadfast and courageous character that possessed more than enough wit and cunning to keep someone as thick and rotten as Wickham in line. Therefore, when Darcy sought the solitude of their room it was with great confidence that when his wife joined him later that night she would probably pout about having to deal with Wickham and the two of them could have a good rant over him before falling asleep with laughter still in their ears.

Elizabeth was indeed rather annoyed with the arrangements. To accept him into her house with her irksome mother on her heels with an open invitation was an abhorring thought. She understood her husband's reluctance and wished to spare him further insult. It was bad enough that he had to be joined with him through his own marriage with her, but to have them paraded about his face was much too far to be graciously accepted. Thus Elizabeth took this responsibility without hesitation and was there, side by side with Colonel Fitwilliam, whose sword had reinstated itself upon his hip, to await the guests in the entrance hall, while the rest continued to wait in the foyer. She also saw young Georgiana off with a few words and a firm hug. She did not object to the removal at all, knowing that although she still kept the stacks of poetry she had written about him in a locked drawer, she could not forgive him for his actions. She was also rather abject to the idea of seeing her brother kill anyone in her name. She had already seen what he had done to his own cousin on April Fools Day and she shuddered to think what techniques her brother would use.

As Elizabeth had left the foyer her father had given her a few last words. "This storm cannot last long Lizzy."

She knew he was not only talking about the one taking place outside.

A servant, just polite enough to not scream for the pair's immediate removal, had their soaking overcoats taken down to be dried and their puddles to be taken care of. It was a hard task since Lydia took immediately to skipping about the place to remark on every single piece of furniture and decoration, praising all things Darcy. Wickham, already feeling the arrogance he had bore while living there resettled, stayed in one place and merely moved his head in a cursorily way, remarking to anyone who was about that Pemberly looked to be in disrepair since he had last seen it. Mrs. Reynolds was quick to assure him that the house had gone through several renovations that had rescued it from its past state of neglect that it had withstood.

Lydia had just squealed at the exquisitely expensive painting of the master and mistress of the house that hung on the landing at the top of the stairs when Mrs. Darcy entered herself. Lydia threw herself upon her sister with great vigor.

"Lord have you done well for yourself Lizzy! And to think my husband and I only sleep in a house half the size of your entryway."

"Such a exageration would normally be taken as a compliment, but I suppose my cousin, dear Mr. Collins, has spoiled that of me," was Elizabeth's sharp reply.

Lydia took no notice as she surveyed the man that accompanied her sister.

"Lizzy this does not look like the man you had married. Has this short time already done so much to him? What must the two of you be doing I wonder!"

Clearing his throat Wickham stepped forward in the hopes to end his wife's stupidity. "That is because that is not Fitzwilliam Darcy but his cousin, Geoffrey Fitzwilliam."

Lydia crinkled her nose in distaste. "Names in rich families are so droll! I swear they are made all the same just to confuse those of lower stature."

Elizabeth bore her sister's remarks as she had for the past sixteen years and simply nodded.

Wickham responded similarly and turned again to Fitzwilliam. "And how are you old dog? It has been a long time since we ganged up on young Darcy. Now those were the days. Since we are on that track, where is our old play mate? Should not the master of the house greet his guests?"

"Darcy saw fit to not waste his breath on such trifling foolish pleasantries and has retired," Fitzwilliam answered.

Wickham received this as gracefully as he could, but could not help gritting his teeth through his smile.

The two were showed into the foyer and Mrs. Bennet and Kitty bounded upon the two to share what gossip they had. Jane's child was then show cased to the newcomers who, for the benefit of those gathered, pretended to fawn over and adore. They were shown to their rooms, two whole floors below the master bedrooms, and the night grew quiet, the storm fading into the background.

Elizabeth, for lack of a better word, trudged into their bedroom and pretty much slammed the door behind her. Darcy rose from the bed to go to her, but she held up her hand to indicate he cease his movements.

"Was it…was it that bad?" he asked hesitantly.

Elizabeth made no reply other than a slight twitch below her eye.

Darcy winced inwardly and hurriedly shepherd her to the bed, patting her back gingerly.

"Now Elizabeth you know why I couldn't go down there, don't you?"

Again his inquiry was met with silence, but the infamous eyebrow that rose was answer enough.

Darcy sighed and tried to pull her towards him, but she remained stiff and unmoving. Truly hurt at his wife's reaction, Darcy turned her by the shoulders to face him. To his dismay she refused to meet his gaze and chose instead to turn her head downwards.

Giving her shoulders a squeeze, Darcy said seriously, "Elizabeth I promise to make this up to you. I swear this to you as earnestly as the day I made those vows on our wedding day."

Darcy stared at his wife searchingly, waiting for her to say something. When she still did not respond, Darcy allowed his hands to leave her shoulders and his eyes to also drop. It was then that he felt a disturbance. His gaze refocused immediately upon his wife, whose shoulders began to shake. Thinking them tears, Darcy put out a hand to comfort her, but Elizabeth rocketed out of the bed and went prancing about the room and laughing heardily. Darcy observed her in blank confusion and bewilderment at the sudden change in mood. His hand still unwittingly hovered in mid air as he watched her whoop in the most unladylike manner.

Finally spent of her euphoric moment, she let herself fall back onto the bed beside a still utterly incomprehensive Darcy. Upon seeing his face, she went into a last fit of giggles before dissolving into heavy breathing from her exertion. When she had finally calmed down sufficiently she gave Darcy what could possibly have been the most wicked smile witnessed by mankind.

"You must entertain Mr. Collins when he next comes to visit."

Darcy's eyes widened considerably at this.

"I certainly will not!" he exclaimed, his voice reaching almost to a falcetto. "I have many…important…manly…business to attend to."

"And these things are all much more significant than your wedding vows?" Elizabeth snapped.

"No, that is not what I am saying--"

"Then why did you say it in such a way?"

Darcy had no chance for his retort when Elizabeth decidedly smothered him with a pillow. Flailing Darcy took hold of her and the two were dragged down over the side of the bed. Fortunately their scirmage had already rendered much of the bed sheets already to the floor and thus their fall was cushioned. After several minutes of scuffling, jibes, and feigned insult the two somehow ended up underneath the bed entirely with Elizabeth laying on top of her husband and riding the rise and fall his chest as he heaved for breath. Only one corner of the bed sheet lay on the actual bed, accompanied by a solitary pillow. As the two winded down, more urgent matters were once again addressed.

"Darcy, you aren't going to avoid him during this entire stay are you?"

Darcy shook his head. "Of course not. That would be a sign of weakness. Your sister is right. It is time to move on. I shall face him."

Elizabeth gave him a swift kiss. "I expected no less of you and I have no doubt you shall be the victor."

Darcy only gave a smile, and a curious one at that. Elizabeth could not quite pinpoint its meaning or what had set it upon his face. Darcy then surveyed their position with a frown.

"Shall we perhaps return to our proper bedding place?"

"No, I do not think so. I am quite content right here. You make a sufficient mattress and you are quite warm, so blankets are not even required."

He wrapped an arm about his wife and gave that same smile that had adorned his face but a few moments before.

"As you wish my love."

That smile was indeed hard to recognize because it was something much more than a mere facial expression. It was an inner joy that came from within his heart and pulled into physical expression so that others can see and wonder and without knowing it, will then pass on to them. If nothing else, then the nature of that smile must be a universal truth for just as Elizabeth fell into the depths of sleep, her lips were turned upward into a smile.


	3. Battles of Heart and Hands

The next day both dressed with excruciating slowness, both due to their soreness from their odd sleeping arrangements and their sullen attitudes towards the still stormy day. Darcy insisted on tying his own cravat and Elizabeth was adamant about doing up the sixty or so buttons on her outfit without her usual servant. Both emerged with reluctance, though happy to descend to a surely dreadful breakfast together.

They emerged the breakfast table with everyone's eyes trained on them. Some watched for a reaction and the rest were looking expectantly at them so that the meal could commence. Elizabeth forced on a smile to say her 'good mornings', while Darcy gave a single nod accompanied by a 'good morning' only directed to his cousin and the Gardiners.

The rest of the meal was decidedly strained and very awkward. Conversation was flat and lifeless. Those who could make conversation were not inclined to do so and those who simply gossiped inevitably ran out of it.

Fitzwilliam, feeling duty weighing heavily upon his shoulders, felt obliged to end the agonizing silence and offer some sort of diversion to his undoubtedly suffering cousin.

"How well have you been keeping up your fencing skills Darcy? I know have been busy since your Cambridge days, but I cannot see you allowing your talents to go to waste."

"My regularity for practice has certainly waned, but I do make an effort to continue my skills seeing as that my talents with a foil are one of my few conceits," Darcy said, making no room for doubt as to the implication he made.

His wife smiled at her husband's jest, but chose not to acknowledge it in front of the company. Elizabeth instead chose to further the subject in the valiant attempt to continue conversation.

"Is there any way to vouch for these skills that you so proudly claim sir?"

"Actually yes, Darcy here made the Cambridge fencing team in his first year and later became captain," Fitzwilliam answered, taking note in the way Darcy looked pleased with the praise, but colored all the same.

Seeking to recover some humility Darcy added, "But of course that was only after the colonel graduated."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. "Indeed, I had not been allowed more than two hours before my title was given to my cousin, who received his captaincy only in his upon graduating from his second year. Nearly unheard of in all of Cambridge history."

"Yes, it was one of the chief legends told to oncoming students," Bingley jumped in, "I had joined the fencing club, but never made the team unfortunately. When I arrived Darcy was in his final year of Cambridge and his captaincy and was determined to make a team as flawless as he. I had only gone for social reasons and could never live up to those standards."

Jane put a loving hand upon that of her husband's. "Now dear, don't be too hard on yourself."

"No indeed, if I recall I could never have survived latin without your tutoring," Darcy agreed quickly.

"I had also made the fencing team," Wickham interjected ungracefully.

"Ah yes, and as I remember you were taken off it for your many drunken outings with the younger sisters of most of the team's senior members," Darcy commented drolly.

Lydia giggled guilelessly. "Oh but there is no doubt who had the better time!"

"Quite so," said Mrs. Bennet.

Fitzwilliam sighed inwardly. His help seemed to be needed constantly. Whether appeasing his aunt or accommodating strangers or fending off the general idiocy it was always he, as the good soldier, to bear. His cousin owed him and was grossly overdue. He would be good to mention it on the next April Fool's trick he planned to attempt.

"Yes well why don't we give the ladies here a little exhibition here. Good breeding is more often than not only overcome by the strife of young men to prove their masculinity."

There was a general agreement to the proposal, subtly sprinkled with excitement from the women. The men folk, Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bennet, however rolled their eyes and thanked the heavens they were not so young anymore to be so susceptible to the idiocy of youth.

Being an enormous house, it was no surprise that the Darcys kept a large practice room on the second floor. It had very high ceilings, several circular practice rings, multiple windows to let in sunshine at every hour of the day, and a raised platform (piste) for formal matches. The room was decorated extravagantly. The walls were lined with ornamental shields and magnificent swords that had been collected for generations. Some were worn, their brass handles smooth to the touch, molded by time and use, fitting the hand that held it. Others were obviously only for show casing purposes. Those ones shined brilliantly in the morning sun, the jewels inlaid into to the hilts glinted within their glass cases, red tassels hanging off the pommel.

Those who entered were in awe. Elizabeth, although loathe to admit it, had never had the privilege of being inside the fencing room. Darcy had merely informed her of its existence and simply stated that it was 'unsuitable' for women to visit. For some reason, Elizabeth was deeply enchanted with the room. She could almost see a younger Darcy, stressed or angry, coming down and practicing as an output for his emotions.

Elizabeth conjectures were not so far off. Darcy did indeed go there for those reasons. This room alone had seen his true feelings. Whether it was his loneliness, when he sat alone polishing his various weapons in the corner or when his stress controlled his strokes, wildly spinning off course, his focus diverted. He had taken out his anger there with furious tactics and aggressive strikes, wishing only to exhaust himself and forget. He remembered spending hours fencing the year he had met Elizabeth.

Darcy looked to his wife, who unlike all the other women dawdling still at the door, was quickly bouncing from place to place, examining everything and much to his dismay picking up any relatively pointy object and swinging it with hardly pent up enthusiasm.

"Elizabeth…Elizabeth please!" Darcy exclaimed worriedly as she started mock fighting with a genuine court sword.

Laughing, she ceased her battle with imaginary foes.

"Do you fear for me or perhaps the safety of your lovely drapes?"

Rushing to her side and promptly wrenching the sword from her hand, despite protests and glares, he replaced it on its stand. Trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice he addressed Elizabeth with a forced calm.

"Elizabeth dearest, these drapes have seen enough abuse, but I would rather you not--"

Wickham cut across Darcy. "Yes, I remember when Darcy had a horrendous fit when he was twenty or so and slashed those drapes into pieces."

Darcy grit his teeth and gave no response, his fists clenching at his sides.

Seeing his reaction, Wickham smirked. "Temper, temper Darce! Still can't control yourself I see."

"And I still see you have problems restraining yourself as well," Darcy snarled.

Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. Old habits die hard. It was always a fight for them. In their youth the two of them competed over height, horses, women, ect. Being married adults their foolhardy competitions only altered in that…they were married.

Bingley was staring decidedly at the draperies.

"Darcy why in the world would you even consider harming these? They must be the equivalent of a Peruvian tapestry," he ejaculated a little too emphatically.

Jane turned her head before rolling her eyes. Her husband had the heart of an angel and could not stand dispute among those around him, but most of the times his efforts turned to blunders. It was either sorely lacking subtlety or refinement, his questions blunt or blatantly obvious that he wanted to change the subject. Fortunately, already in an indelicate situation, any distraction was welcomed.

Darcy looked only mildly peeved at being asked such a personal question, however he got over it quickly, knowing that Bingley was the certainly the lesser of two evils.

"When I had just turned one and twenty my favorite horse, Roden, died. It had weathered years of sickness without revealing a single symptom. On my birthday, the years finally catching up with him, his health's deterioration had reached its peak. He had been the last horse that had been gifted to me from both of my parents," Darcy answered quietly, though was secretly pleased with the way Elizabeth's eyes sparkled when she bestowed upon him a look of deepest sympathy.

Fitzwilliam, sensing the opportunity for a scathing comment from Wickham, made haste to divert conversation and back to his original intent.

"Come Darcy! I ache for a good bout! My blood runs hot with the want to beat you," Fitzwilliam exclaimed, brandishing a foil from a specific set situated near the fencing platform.

Darcy smiled determinedly as he did in kind, removing his waistcoat and then jumping up to join his cousin on the platform, for all the world the two of them looked like the swashbuckling characters of the novels each woman secretly stashed away under their pillow.

"Pray, are we not to fully dress in proper gear?" Darcy inquired.

Testing his blade, Fitzwilliam shook his head. "No, let's not go through the bother. After all this is merely a _friendly_ competition."

"I do believe that is just an excuse to make your loss less humiliating," Darcy countered, beginning to move to his proper position. "I am surprised you chose to start with foil as your aim is rather poor and the foil presents much less of a target."

"Ah, but had I started with an épée, its heavier weight surely would have tired you much quicker, seeing as that your tender hands have recently only been employed in letters and women things."

Elizabeth gazed upon the two with fascination as their banter continued through their positioning, setting of their stances, salutes, and then finally to combat. Each formality was done without the need to address each other and was deftly executed. They could talk with ease while fencing, their skill compensating for their focus. Darcy's hand wrapped around a gold hilt with red streaked through, while Fitzwilliam held one that was dark blue with silver dusting, almost like stars. Indeed both were custom made. As a testament to their friendship Fitzwilliam had his very own personal fencing set kept at Pemberly and likewise, Darcy had one at Whitemore. The entire set included five foils, three épées, and two sabres, naturally sporting matching handles. As testament to Darcy's wealth, he kept a specific custom set just for the occasions when he fenced his cousin.

Observing all this and trying not to roll her eyes, Elizabeth watched, intrigued. Her husband had a fiery temper, she knew, but even when being insulted and attacked by his cousin he would only smile and continue on with a sportman's spirit. Darcy nor Fitzwilliam seemed to care about how their performances were perceived by those around them. This match really was a game between the two of them. Elizabeth smiled. They were the very best of men. Darcy was the courageous Romeo and Fitwilliam, Benvolio, noble and just. The two of them both a relative and a friend to each other.

As they fought, Elizabeth was sorely disappointed. All there seemed to be was a few jabs and a lot of shuffling away. Bingley explained to the other ladies that fencing was like a dance. Elizabeth could not see anything less akin to the delicate maneuvers.

Then, in a flash it changed. It was Darcy who initiated the change the pace in speed. He was quickly on the offensive, pushing his cousin back with quick, concise strikes. Fitzwilliam did not seem unprepared however and his dodges and blocks were agile and his defense expertly kept.

Everyone could feel their heart quicken along with the match, their ears full of the song of battle and their eyes filled with what could only be described as a warrior's dance.

A fiery glint in his eye, Fitzwilliam allowed his cousin to back him to the very end of the piste. With infinite smugness, Fitzwilliam held his own there without having to move another inch. Elizabeth and Georgiana could not keep from laughing when Fitzwilliam gave them a quick wink and cocky grin. It was evident the good colonel was showing off.

Darcy ground his teeth together as he saw the display and doubled his efforts to break through his cousin's seemingly inpenetrable defense. No one, not even his cousin, would be allowed the liberty to flirt with _his _wife (as he had already proven on several occasions). Immersed in his attack, Darcy's strikes were light, hardly more than taps, in order to allow him speed. Knowing this Fitzwilliam waited until a swing to his knees before putting extra arm into his parry. Darcy's arm was shoved to the side, leaving his body open for a point.

Several of the women gasped, while the men raised their brows in anticipation.

Fitzwilliam made no further move, while Darcy moved back into a normal stance.

Darcy nodded. "A hit acknowledged."

Elizabeth was dumbfounded. Did she miss it? She was so absorbed in the match. It was like she was drinking in all their facial expressions, the arch of their weapons, the placement of their feet, the clink of metal meeting that upon its abrupt climax she stood almost in wanting. She expected there to be at least some kind of bell tolling in the distance to signal the end of the spectacle if not a brigade of marching red coats with ribbons raining from the ceiling.

"Is-is that it?" Kitty asked entranced.

"You didn't hit him!" Lydia seemed less disappointed than indignant.

"That, my dear, is why fencing is called a _gentlemen's_ sport," Wickham commented dryly.

He was not pleased by the outcome, not at all. Not only did Fitzwilliam not devour his cousin in his state of vulnerability, but both had shown talent far surpassing Wickham's meager expectations. Fitzwilliam, though a colonel, was a cavalry man and up to this point Wickham was sure that he gained his position through his wealth and reputation. As for Darcy, Wickham was counting on his skills to have worn away since his mastership of Pemberly. Understandibly, Wickham was sizably upset.

Darcy and Fitwilliam agreed to play for three points, where then Bingley volunteered to jump in with Darcy for a single point match and begged that he be allowed a tutorial from Fitzwilliam. Wickham made no offer at all.

Their match commenced, easily falling back into rhythm. Fitzwilliam scored yet another point, but Darcy, finally falling back into stride, scored two points, one after the other. As Elizabeth continued to watch with rapt fascination, she began to pick up patterns and recognize both player's separate styles and habits. Probably born from using a cavalry sword, Fitzwilliam's strokes were broader, while Darcy primarily kept to the stab and jab motions most common of the sport. Darcy usually made specific combos of four to five moves for a steady flow of attack before switching to the defensive. Fitzwilliam switched after every two maneuvers. Elizabeth also understood the positioning the two used. They constantly stayed quite linear to each other, standing side-on. This created great difficulty in scoring since most hits only grazed across the chest instead of the dead on accuracy required.

At long last, Fitzwilliam received the title of victor. It was a close match and both competitors could not hide their fatigue. Darcy was very thankful that his next match was with Bingley. He did not think he could further exert himself with as good as a performance as he had just done. Even though he had tried hard not to, he had wanted to impress his wife. He smothered his disappointment and dispatched Bingley with ease.

While Bingley was being tutored by his cousin, Darcy made his way back to his wife's side. She had once again taken to investigating the various objects of the room, but Darcy was relieved that she refrained from swinging them albeit she still felt the need to take them in hand or partake in some form of touch before passing each item by.

"Bored already my love?" Darcy inquired.

"No, of course not," Elizabeth smiled up at her husband, "It is just that there is no one else worth watching."

Darcy sidled up closer to his wife, but did not make any move to kiss her. They were in company after all.

Elizabeth caught sight of a very peculiar fencing set. It was made up of seven foils and three épées, but what made it so odd and so strange was that they were very, very…small. They could only be as long as her arm at least! They also were very much bent and battered looking, more so than any of the other things in the room.

"Darcy, what are these?" she asked quizzically, picking one up to confirm its miniaturized status.

"These were my sets when I was growing up. I started when I was seven," Darcy said, fingering the blunt tip.

"So young!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Of course and I plan to have our own children to start even earlier."

Elizabeth frowned. "Oh no, even younger would be far too dangerous. At least at seven your motor skills are dependable."

"Who says they will not be capable at an early age?"

"And who says they will be sons at all for surely you will never allow a daughter to take up the sport."

Darcy huffed. "Certainly not! She will dance and sing and…"

"Do all the things that is expected of her or that she is told to do," Elizabeth finished, scowling at her husband. "Just like everyone else in this household."

"Lizzie--"

"I am Elizabeth right now. Remember that we are in company," she stated icily.

She disengaged herself from him and went to sit near her sister. The only sign of Darcy's chagrin was a how his lips became pursed and that he did not take his place near his wife, instead choosing to take over the tutoring of Bingley, which was much harsher than what Fitzwilliam had engaged in previously.

Sensing Darcy's distraction and agitation, Wickham felt opportunity knocking.

"My word Darcy. I daresay you are tired of teaching. Can I perhaps persuade you in a match?"

Rather recklessly, Darcy took up Wickham's offer. He was angry with her. How dare she remind him of proper etiquette? As he chose one of his stiffer foils, he silently seethed. She always wanted to make things a fight, nay a battle between the two of them. She always wanted to argue could she not just accept his decisions and trust him? She knew nothing about life in his kind of society.

Just as those thoughts formed, he was immediately ashamed of it. Wasn't her imprudence the reason why he married her? He enjoyed her opinions. It actually kept him on his feet rather than what a mindless drone wife would have done for him. She did trust him. He was one of the few, in fact Elizabeth's trust circle contained only he and Jane. It was the last thought that made him shudder. Was he still the prideful ass he had promised Elizabeth he was no more?

He was a lot sloppier now, his thoughts occupied. Wickham pressed his advantage, but even in his state of mind Darcy was the superior fencer. Wickham decided to do what he did best: cheat.

He swung fast and hard towards Darcy's middle. Darcy went to counter it. In that split second before Darcy's blade connected with his Wickham stiffened his wrist. This caused the base of the blade to halt and straighten, but the flimsy tip continued to bend with the momentum of the swing. The impact was immediately known with a resounding thwack against Darcy's unpadded chest. Darcy dropped his foil in surprise at the sudden stinging pain across his skin. Wickham had used what was commonly called a 'flick'. It was a cheap trick that could only be used by flimsy practice swords. In real combat it was be impossible to do so. Darcy clenched his jaw and looked up at the triumphant Wickham, who was being applauded by several of those in the room.

Refusing to look into their faces, Darcy bent down to pick up his fallen weapon. He cursed his cheeks that burned with the humiliation. This was worst than bowing to Wickham himself. As he straightened himself once more, he could feel the intensity of her gaze upon him. He chanced a glance over in her direction and even though he had meant to look away soon after, he found himself continuing to meet her eyes. She did not look away, not even when Fitzwilliam and Bingley began to protest in outrage against Wickham's conduct. She was not one of those who applauded his failure or praised Wickham's cunning. Her eyes were on him and only on him.

"…_there is no one else worth watching."_

Darcy felt his muscles loosen and his mind clear, feeling his security return. He turned back to Wickham with new vigor.

"So are we playing by those kinds of rules."

Wickham could not help but grin broadly, exulting within his own smugness. "Oh lighten up old chap. It was only in jest."

Then let me have a joke of my own, Darcy thought as he stood back in a ready position.

The attack was relentless and Wickham was hard put to stop the onslaught of sudden ferocity and focus. He managed to defend himself, but just barely. He got quite a few knicks along his arms. Soon he was being backed up further and further to his end of the piste. Darcy swung high and Wickham met him midair and pushed his weight and strength into it the block, forcing close engagement. Damning the rules, Wickham grasped Darcy's hands as they grappled, their hands far above their heads, leaving their bodies wide open. Wickham kicked out at Darcy's exposed abdomen, forcing him back and fled to the very end of the piste, ready to make his stand there and gaining the advantage of having Darcy need to come to him.

Darcy was pushed almost past the halfway point of the piste. With grim determination he began a fast sprint to the other end of the piste. Wickham widened his stance to ready himself for the impact. Darcy's course of action took him by surprise however. They were somewhat rasher than he would have ever thought of Darcy. Charging the way he was doing seemed out of character. Wickham watched Darcy's progress with alarm. What was Darcy doing? His sprint was beginning to make an obvious slant. It did not even seem like he was going to meet Wickham head on.

He was nearing very quickly. He was but nine paces away and on the very edge of the piste when Fitzwilliam Darcy did the unthinkable. As he ran he planted one of his feet on the wooden frame of Fitzwilliam's fencing set that had been placed against the piste, and with god-like strength he pushed off it and using the extra height, began to fly through the air towards the utterly flummoxed Wickham. Wickham watched in horror as Darcy, still in midair, drew his sword back and thrust it forward. The fencing set crashed upon the ground just as Darcy landed, tip at Wickham's heart, his face hardly inches away from his opponent's, his sword bent as much as it could go.

There was an immediate uproar from the small crowd gathered there in the fencing room who had witnessed the impossible. Darcy laughed at Wickham's feeble attempts to bring himself out of his shock.

"That was an obvious violation of--"

Talking around his laughter, Darcy gave Wickham a hardy slap on the back. "Did my feet ever touch the ground outside the piste? You see when I cheat Wickham, I do it right. That is categorized as a flying lunge, as you well know. I merely used a rather unconventional way of executing it."

Darcy jumped down from the piste and shared another good laugh with Bingley and Fitzwilliam. The women gushed and when he found himself standing back next to his wife, he felt a hand slip into his. He turned his head, but she did not look at him, only smiling off into space. Darcy could see it in her eyes though. The pride of her husband and her pride in herself for believing in him so fully.

It was proposed that those who had participated retire from the company, while the rest went into the drawing room for cards. Though Lydia and Jane left their husbands for the card table, Elizabeth followed her husband into the hall. When Darcy pulled his hand away from Elizabeth's, she finally looked up into his face and searched his eyes for a glimpse into his thoughts, but it was his turn to look resolutely forward. Instead, his hand found a much more pleasing placement. One that made Elizabeth color around the cheeks.

That was an authentic Darcy apology…well, except for the little afternoon tryst in the bedroom, but that of course is a private matter.

**-O-**

**Um, I will take this time to thank you for your wait and apologize for having such a nothing-ness chapter. This chapter hardly had any plot value…but it was cool right! Oh god, please say yes. I just wanted the chapter out cause I know I've been keeping you guys waiting. I also put a lot of effort into the fencing scenes. I hoped they turned out okay. **


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